


The Winchester Complex

by MidnightofLight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Family, Hurt, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Pain, Panicked!Sam, Teenage!Sam, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, complex, hurt!Dean, teenage!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:07:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightofLight/pseuds/MidnightofLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had beat death several times; showed the world just how indestructible the Winchesters really were. It was a constant gamble of life and death. The first time Dean was shot as a teenager is what started it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winchester Complex

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Supernatural.

The bullet is silver, small, and fast as it tears through Dean’s chest.

For a second he looks down and sees the first drop of blood, standing frozen in rigid shock. Then, he’s sailing backwards towards the asphalt. The bullet lands several yards behind, ricocheting off the Impala. Dean can hear the glass shattering and scattering across the ground. He thinks; _dammit, not the car,_ and the pain takes over.

“Dean!”

It’s Sam, Dean’s fourteen year old little brother.

Sam hovers into view, kneeling into a small puddle of blood. Frantic hands shove themselves on top of the bullet wound. Dean shouts as Sam applies pressure, arching his back off the ground. Being shot hurts. Stopping the blood loss hurts a hell of a lot more.

“Dean! Look at me!” Sam’s voice is desperate, _scared,_ and it hits Dean just as hard as the bullet did. “Please! Stay with me!”

The pain starts to become unbearable. It’s raw and relentless, like a bug bite that won’t stop itching. This, is a bullet wound, though. Not a measly mosquito bite. His simile is stupid and makes no sense. When a mosquito bites you, it doesn't take enough blood to kill. A bullet does.

Still, Dean manages to fight the pain and look Sam straight in the eyes. He moans, “Sammy…”

“Dad will be back soon!” Sam looks all over, his breath misting in the night’s cold air.

That’s right.

Dad had taken them on a hunt and asked them to stand and watch the car while he went in to search a house. What were they hunting again? _Dammit_. His mind is starting to go blank, thoughts escaping; being erased in a torrent of numbing pain. Who had shot him then? _Dammit again._

Dean focuses on Sam’s face and tries to concentrate. He needs to keep his eyes open. He needs to fight for Sammy.

“Did you call 9-1-1, Sam?”

Sam runs a hand over his face and pushes his bangs out of his eyes. Dean notices how long Sam’s hair has gotten. He’s gonna have to get a haircut, but he knows his father is far too busy to associate himself with the likes of Sam’s hair. Dean cares enough to make up for him.  He'll take his brother to get his hair cut, because last time he tried to do it on his own was a total disaster.

“Yeah,” Sam answers. “Dean, who was that man?”

There was a man. _But who the hell was he?_

“Dean!” Sam’s voice is more urgent. Dean doesn't realize he’s begun to slip. He snaps back to the pain. He can see that Sam’s crying now. A hand is still putting pressure on his chest, but the other is holding Dean’s head up. “You can’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” Dean croaks. His mouth feels dry.

He can’t leave Sam. Sam needs him. Who’s going to take care of him while his dad goes out on a hunt? Another hunter who’ll just pull Sam deeper into the lifestyle? Or will he just leave Sam in a crappy motel room with bad cable, eating potato chips—with Dean he can at least get a frozen meal—for dinner. There’s no way in hell that Dean’s going to let that happen.

But if he closes his eyes for a second, just a second, perhaps he will fade a little. A small bit of darkness will be nice. Maybe it will dull the pain…

No!

Deans teetering on the fine line of life and death. If he lets any slack, he will fall and there will be no stopping him. He pictures himself as a tightrope walker, treading gingerly over a large abyss. If he looks down, all he sees is darkness, and it terrifies him, but if he looks forward, Dean can see the outline of the platform the rope is attached to. He keeps his head up and walks on, but he just feels so tired.

Just for a second…

“Dean!” Sam’s desperate shouts start to become lost. His voice is becoming nothing more than muffled sobs. Dean almost loses his balance. Almost.

Wait. He was thinking about a man. Who was that man?

Dean’s mind has never felt so obsolete, yet hectic at the same time.

Perhaps another hunter?

Oh, man, he’s starting to feel very light headed.

The world starts to fade. Black dots gather in his vision, and he can see the panicked look on Sam’s face. Now, he’s dangling from the tightrope—footing long lost—and holding on with only a couple of slipping fingers. The abyss is starting to grow closer. It feels warm, so much better than his cold, hunting life. His life is lonely. They risk their lives to save people, but those people have no idea that monsters even exist. It doesn't matter. Sam is here. As long as Sam is here, so is Dean.

 _Talk_ , he tells himself.

“Bitch,” Dean manages to crack a smile. He keeps focused on Sam’s face. He doesn't want to see how much blood he’s lost.

Sam shakes his head and wipes away tears with the back of a bloody hand, “jerk.”

“Where’s dad?” Dean’s voice trembles. And where’s the ambulance?

“He’ll come. Don’t worry.” Sam pushes Dean’s hair away from his face.

“I’m not.”

That’s because the rope suddenly broke, and he’s falling. It’s slow, but the darkness comes all at once. It’s like the drifting into the deepest nap you could possibly imagine, wrapped in the warmest comforter. It’s wonderful, but he really doesn't want to leave Sam. He grasps for the rope, but it’s no longer there. It’s fallen into the abyss too.

The last thing he hears before completely surrendering to the abyss is the sound of Sam’s screaming.

_“Dean! No!”_

* * *

He lived, of course. There was no doubt in his mind that when he opened his eyes, he would see a hospital room. The ambulance had arrived just after he blacked out. His father after he had woken up. Dean could remembered how pissed off his father was and decided since Sam wasn't here, his younger brother already had his berating.

Of course, his dad was there to yell at him for letting his guard down. His dad was angrier about the car than anything. Son was shot? _Whatever._ The Impala had a broken window. That took priority over all.

He screwed up. He let somebody get the best of him. Why couldn't he do anything right?

His father left. Dean would have to find another way back to the hotel. He had broken the car, after all. There was no way he would be allowed in it for a while. It was his punishment for being too lazy to notice someone sneaking up behind him. Who was it? He couldn't remember. There was just a splat of colors that sheeted over his memory.

He stayed in the hospital for two weeks before his father pulled him out. They had places to be, hunts to go on. Besides, Dean was a Winchester. He could deal with a bullet wound that nearly grazed his heart.

Years later, death and misery had successfully robbed the Winchesters of any chance at a normal life they had. They had beat death several times; showed the world just how indestructible the Winchesters really were. It was a constant gamble of life and death, finding unholy ways just to keep the other alive. It was here that Dean rightfully named their little toss ‘the Winchester Complex’.

And the first time he almost died was what started it all.


End file.
